a topic he would rather have left alone.

'You are changing the appearance of the valley,' he said, veiling by his
tone the irony which was evident in his choice of words.

Richard glanced at him, then walked to the window, with his hands in
his pockets, and gave himself the pleasure of a glimpse of the
furnace-chimney above the opposite houses. He laughed.

'I hope to change it a good deal more. In a year or two you won't know
the place.'

'I fear not.'

Mutimer glanced again at his visitor.

'Why do you fear?' he asked, with less command of his voice.

'I of course understand your point of view. Personally, I prefer
nature.'

Hubert endeavoured to smile, that his personal preferences might lose
something of their edge.

'You prefer nature,' Mutimer repeated, coming back to his chair, on the
seat of which he rested a foot. 'Well, I can't say that I do. The Wanley
Iron Works will soon mean bread to several hundred families; how many
would the grass support?'

'To be sure,' assented Hubert, still smiling.

'You are aware,' Mutimer proceeded to ask, 'that this is not a
speculation for my own profit?'

'I have heard something of your scheme. I trust it will be appreciated.'

'I dare say it will be--by those who care anything about the welfare of
the people.'

Eldon rose; he could not trust himself to continue the dialogue. He had
expected to meet a man of coarser grain; Mutimer's intelligence made
impossible the civil condescension which would have served with a boor,
and Hubert found the temptation to pointed utterance all the stronger
for the dangers it involved.

'I will drop you a note,' he said, 'to let you know as soon as the house
is empty.'

'Thank you.'

They had not shaken hands at meeting, nor did they now. Each felt
relieved when out of the other's sight.

Hubert turned out of the street into a road which would lead him to the
church, whence there was a field-path back to the Manor. Walking with
his eyes on the ground he did not perceive the tall, dark figure that
approached him as he drew near to the churchyard gate. Mr. Wyvern had
been conducting a burial; he had just left the vestry and was on his way
to the vicarage, which stood five minutes' walk from the church. Himself
unperceived, he scrutinised the young man until he stood face to face
with him; his deep-voiced greeting caused Hubert to look up' with a
start.

'I'm very glad to see you walking,' said the clergyman.

He took